You've almost run out of time to deliver the message that you promised for Corliss and Trevor. Now…where is Kashif? Ah, still with Ophelia. You find the unlikely pair seated in the corner of the meeting room, Kashif nursing his wine glass, savoring the blood as he sips it through parched lips. He's wearing the same long robe as the last time you saw him in Corliss's office, only now it's slightly stained on the right arm—blood long-dried and scrubbed—its nature hidden from mortal senses, but not your own. He looks tired. Drained. Like he's in the middle of the longest night of his un-life.
Next
Ophelia looks up at you, piercing eyes staring through long, blond hair. "I hope your sire enjoys her conversation with the good Sheriff as much as I did," she says, witheringly. "Qui may mean well, but he asks more questions than most Kindred will be comfortable with."
Kashif places his empty glass on a nearby side-table before replacing it with a full one. "What is it that we can do for you Mr. Agad the Imperishable?" He tries to smile. "You treated me well when last we met outside your sire's office. I remain thankful for your hospitality, if not that of your sire."
It would be best to establish a rapport before immediately passing on Trevor's request. You doubt the vizier will take a suggestion from the Tremere well.